


The Caretaking of Ketracel White

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Remata'Klan's alive. Keevan's alive. They can't stand each other even if Keevan understands exactly what Remata'Klan's going through with ketracel withdrawal and Remata'Klan understands how underhanded a Vorta can be.





	The Caretaking of Ketracel White

Keevan seems to be recovering nicely as he helps set the comms array up outside their makeshift encampment, passing tools to Miles without a word. Julian's still careful, taking infrequent scans to ensure he's not hiding some fresh haemorrhaging or an untreated fracture or break.  
"I assure you I am alive. Better than I've been in days," Keevan hisses at Julian, eyes narrowed. It's a very human expression of disdain, Julian thinks to himself.  
"It would be a shame," Julian replies, turning off the tricorder, "if our new prisoner—"  
"Informant—"  
"Informant," Julian amends, hands raised in a pacifying gesture while Miles chuckles. "If our informant were to die of something perfectly preventable."  
"I don't respond well," Keevan says, not looking away from the comms system, "to threats."  
"Not a threat."  
Keevan rolls his eyes.   
Julian returns inside the cave to check on Dax, who’s slowly been improving despite Julian’s hovering.   
“Doctors, huh?” Miles offers, not looking up from his work.  
“Doctors,” Keevan agrees.   
The hunting party returns over the hill. There's some scant fauna that provides for them, so long as they don't over hunt. Keevan pauses in his work when the party's within range to shout to.   
"Something wrong?" Miles asks the Vorta.  
"Remata'Klan. He's alive."  
"It turns out you weren't the only one to want Federation protection."  
Keevan huffs, going back to his work. At first, Remata'Klan walks right past the Vorta, ignoring him. But he's restless when he's not on the hunt for something, his weapon being more efficient in the process of butchering but he doesn’t trust himself with it otherwise. So he leaves the meat and his weapon with Sisko, Remata'Klan stepping outside the cave into the heat of the afternoon.  
"Keevan."  
"Remata'Klan."  
Miles looks at the Jem'Hadar, who nods for the engineer to leave them. He wipes off his hands, returning inside to help with something else, anything else.   
"You betrayed me and my men," Remata'Klan growls, his stare cold. "You wanted us to die."  
"Because I didn't want to die!" Keevan rises to his full height, a whole thirty centimetres shorter than the Jem'Hadar, but just as imposing. "I didn't want you and your men to tear me apart."  
Without thinking, Remata'Klan backhands the Vorta. Keevan, from the force of the slap, reels back, hitting against the rock, enough to stun but not enough to truly harm him. He can feel the bruises forming, blossoming hot over his skin.  
"I'm glad one of you has a spine," Keevan hisses, eyes taking a cool blue hue in the sunlight, eyes narrowed.   
"I should not have hit you." Remata'Klan looks away. He folds his arms behind his back. “I am sorry.”  
Keevan pushes past the Jem'Hadar, returning inside, to the cool darkness.

* * *

"He hit you?" Julian screeches, the Vorta’s chin held in his hand.   
Keevan raises a brow. "Jem'Hadar are built for war. Remata’Klan hitting me is nothing more than a relfex, like a Terran stuttering when frightened."  
Julian huffs, scanning the Vorta, inspecting him for any serious injuries. Keevan pushes the doctor's hand away.  
"Forgive my scepticism," Keevan says, "but I think I'm fine."  
Julian nods, powering off the tricorder. He gives the bruise on Keevan’s cheek another worried glance. “At least let me—”  
“No.” Keevan’s glare softens slightly. “A bruise won’t kill me.”   
"If you and Remata'Klan can't play nice, I'll keep him in cuffs," Sisko says firmly.  
"Forgive him," Keevan says. "He doesn't have white. He's on edge. And I would rather he have some small outlet than not, don’t you agree, Captain?"  
Sisko shakes his head, bringing a serving of food to Dax, who gives Sisko a look.   
"I don't understand how you can be so forgiving toward him," Julian mutters.  
"I wronged him. It’s natural for a Jem'Hadar so on edge to react like an animal."  
"I'm not," Remata'Klan interrupts, "a mindless hound."  
Sisko tenses, ready to intervene if the Jem'Hadar decides to attack the Vorta. Instead, Remata'Klan settles close to their cooking fire, sitting on the sand. He glances at Keevan, inspecting him, but makes no hostile moves.   
"Do you hurt, Keevan?" Remata'Klan asks.   
"No."  
"Good." Remata'Klan just watches the Vorta. "I would be upset if I had harmed you."  
"You're such a suck-up," Keevan says. "Can't you think for yourself?"  
"Being here is proof I am not a Borg drone."  
Keevan huffs, settling closer to the Jem'Hadar.

* * *

"I will keep night watch for anything," Remata'Klan volunteers. He keeps his weapon locked up when he doesn't use it for hunting.   
"There's no need," Sisko says.  
"I would like to," Remata'Klan says. "A planet with prey has predators."  
"Fine," Sisko says, seeing the way Remata'Klan drops the tension in his shoulders. "But the moment you get too anxious, I'm ordering Bashir to give you a sedative."  
"Understood. Sir."  
He fights to keep his stride even, not running. But once he's free of the cave, he finds it easier to breathe, the air more comfortable. And the sky, one he's never been allowed to simply sit and stare at, is blinding with stars. He takes a few steps away from the cavern's entrance, seating himself on the sand, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them.   
Another set of footsteps leaves the cave. They settle next to Remata'Klan.  
"What are you staring at?" Keevan asks, resting his head on the Jem'Hadar.   
"Stars. They are . . . bright. Numerous."  
"You're burning up," Keevan notes.   
"Are you cold?"  
Keevan simply presses close to Remata'Klan. Slowly, the Jem'Hadar pulls Keevan into his lap, allowing the Vorta to be warmed by Remata'Klan's own fever  
"Vulcans experience something similar," Keevan adds.  
Remata'Klan scoffs. "I doubt a quick roll in the sand will cure my withdrawal."  
"It might help with the anxiety."  
"Are you volunteering?"   
Keevan twists, on his knees in the sand, hands on Remata'Klan's shoulders. His eyes are wide in the dark, scanning the Jem'Hadar's face. Before Remata'Klan can say anything, Keevan leans in, lips cool against his own.  
Remata'Klan pulls away. "You could go and screw the Cardassian if you wanted. Same aesthetics."  
"I don't like Cardassians," Keevan says. He still presses himself against the Jem'Hadar, leeching some of that fever heat. "Do you remember what I promised you days ago?"  
"You are the Vorta." Remata'Klan says, hands resting on the Vorta's waist. "You would take care of us."  
"I still will, if you'll let me."  
"How can I trust you now?"  
"You've bested me." Keevan looks at Remata'Klan seriously. "I have no power over you."  
"Would you?" Remata'Klan asks, adjusting the Vorta's clothing. "Care for me?"  
"I would."  
Remata'Klan leans in, close almost his lips against the Vorta's. Keevan closes the distance, kissing Remata'Klan fiercely. He bites the Vorta's lower lip, Keevan hissing as blood spills over both their tongues. Without really realizing it, he's up, Keevan held against him.   
He carries the Vorta toward the exterior wall of their cave, just away from the entrance and into the dark where they won't be found.  
"I won't be gentle with you," Remata'Klan warns before nipping at Keevan's neck.  
"I don't want you to be." Keevan's hands work at the fasteners of Remata'Klan's jumpsuit. "Be as rough as you want."  
Remata'Klan fumbles with the fabric, hating how Vorta have to wear so many layers. But once Keevan's stripped down to his under-shirt, Remata'Klan stops. Keevan seems amused for a moment. But Remata'Klan sinks his teeth into the crook of Keevan's neck, drawing blood, bruising the Vorta. Keevan moans.  
"You like being mistreated."  
"Manhandled," Keevan corrects, undoing the Jem'Hadar's belt. "There's a difference."  
Remata'Klan presses a kiss to the bite, violet smeared over his lips. He undresses the Vorta just enough to fuck him and yet he's confused.   
"What's wrong?" Keevan asks, hand working the Jem'Hadar's cock out of its sheathe.  
"I've seen you opened up on a rock but this confuses me."  
"You just stick it in," Keevan tells him, like the Jem'Hadar's stupid. Keevan's the one lining Remata'Klan up with himself. "Go ahead."  
Remata'Klan gives one shallow thrust, penetrating the Vorta. He groans. It's unlike anything he's ever experienced before: warm, with enough slick to ease each motion, and tight.  
"Founders," Remata'Klan swears.   
"You like that?" Keevan asks.  
Remata'Klan nods, holding the Vorta by the hips. Keevan adjusts himself, sinking down on Remata'Klan's cock. the Vorta clings to the Jem'Hadar, sinking his nails into the Jem'Hadar's thick hide. With each thrust, Remata'Klan presses Keevan back into the rough rock wall.   
Keevan's a sight. The moons of this planet make him glow, sheened with sweat as they move together, Remata'Klan relishing in the warmth of the Vorta. He presses his lips over and over against Keevan's throat, nipping gently along his pulse.   
Keevan cries out, Remata'Klan kissing him to muffle his moans. And that shallow genital slit tightens, Remata'Klan unable to stop himself as he cums.   
"Founders be damned," Keevan murmurs.   
"Sorry," Remata'Klan mutters, pulling out of the Vorta. "Let me—"  
"Just give me a minute."   
Remata'Klan holds Keevan close, looking him over. "I bit you pretty badly."  
Keevan's hand covers the bite, fingers sticky and dark. "Julian's going to worry."  
"Federation doctors," Remata'Klan huffs.  
Keevan twists in the Jem'Hadar's grasp, continuing to strip down.   
"To the shore," Remata'Klan infers.   
"Yes."  
"I can carry—"  
"I'm not fragile." Keevan scolds. "I can walk."  
The Vorta slides out of the Jem'Hadar's grasp, stalking off nude toward the beach. Remata'Klan follows him, always tensed to defend Keevan. Remata'Klan finds himself trailing behind the Vorta, trusting in himself to be able to rush to Keevan's aid, should something happen. The Vorta is easy for him to keep track of like this, his skin glowing in the moonlight as the Vorta steps carefully down the slopes to the shore. But there's no need for Remata’Klan to worry.  
No one leaps out of the dark brush to shoot the Vorta dead where he stand.  
Nothing stalks out of the night to sink sharp fangs into him, rending him limb from limb.  
The Vorta makes it to the shore just find, wading into the water. And the water glows too, catching the light of the moon between waves before swallowing the light down into the dark.   
Keevan seems to enjoy the water, even if he’s just here to wash up.   
Remata'Klan's not opposed to settling on the shore where the waves break on the sand. He watches the ebb and flow of the waves, the interplay between the light and the dark. The scent of salt is strong in his nose and it's not entirely unpleasant.  
When Keevan hisses, Remata'Klan hurries into the water. He takes Keevan in his arms, dragging him to the shore.   
"The water," Keevan manages through gritted teeth. "Salt."  
"Ah." Remata'Klan laps at the bite he's left, Keevan shivering in his arms. But the Vorta seems to relish in Remata'Klan's attention. "Better?"  
"Much better," Keevan says.  
"We should get back," Remata'Klan says. "Two prisoners missing?"  
"Then they should tie me down," Keevan huffs. "I'm a person and I have needs."  
"Like cock?"  
Keevan slaps the Jem'Hadar's chest, just a playful slap. It doesn't hurt, doesn't even sting. Remata'Klan kisses Keevan's forehead.  
"I'll carry you."   
Keevan nods, leaning into Remata'Klan's touches. Carefully, Remata'Klan scoops the Vorta up, carrying him back up the slopes to the cave. The night is warm and, despite the humidity, they're more or less dry after a few minutes of Remata'Klan's marching. He tries not to jostle the Vorta too much, balancing Keevan's warm weight carefully.  
"If they could see us now," Keevan murmurs.  
"Hmm?"  
"Living in caves. Hunting to provide. We've devolved."  
"I don't think so," Remata'Klan says. "This is temporary. Backwards to go forwards."  
"Oh," Keevan sighs, for a moment fixing Remata'Klan with an unseeing stare, blue eyes wide. "I see now."  
"See what?" Remata'Klan climbs the last slope, setting Keevan down on a rock before gathering the Vorta's clothes for him.  
"You know how Jem'Hadar are made."  
"I do." Remata'Klan pulls Keevan's under-shirt onto the Vorta, who trusts in Remata'Klan's precise gaze.  
"Ketracel makes them dumber," Keevan says. "Dumb as . . ." He gestures to the rocks around them.  
"I see." He pulls the Vorta's trousers up over his legs. Keevan's hips are bruised and Remata'Klan feels shame well up hot in his chest.  
"But you're not like the others. You're not a coward or a beast on a chain to be led."  
"That's what I've been telling you for ages," Remata'Klan says, lacing up the Vorta's boots for him.  
Keevan grabs Remata'Klan, hands wandering before finding all of the fastenings to his suit, making Remata'Klan decent.   
"You should come inside. Get some rest."  
Remata'Klan blinks, pauses. "I just think you can't sleep without me."  
Keevan rolls his eyes, scoffing. "I can sleep just fine without you." The Vorta gets up, stretching with a soft groan. "I just thought you might sleep better now. Come inside or don't. It's all the same to me."  
"Go to sleep," Remata'Klan says. "If I feel ready for rest, I'll curl up with you, you needy creature."  
Keevan smiles, narrows his eyes just a bit. It's almost a flirtation. He strides off, back into the cave, without another word.   
Remata'Klan paces the exterior of the cave, watching for predators. Slowly, sleep drapes over him like a shroud. He stretches, trying to get the weariness out of his body. Instead, it remains, pressing down on him.   
He heads inside, slowly, feeling the pressing urge to stay silent keeping him awake and alert.  
Inside, everyone has more or less settled into sleep. Sisko’s by Dax, laying protectively near the Trill, who’s sound asleep. That eases Remata’Klan, knowing the people he is with are safe.  
Keevan’s shivering in another corner, the rock walls refusing to retain heat.   
Remata’Klan crosses the caver, silent as he can be, and lays next to Keevan. The Vorta, unconsciously, curls into Remata’Klan’s feverish heat, Keevan’s head tucked under Remata’Klan’s spined chin.  
“Rest,” Remata’Klan whispers to the Vorta.  
Keevan stops trembling, clinging to the warm body beside him.

* * *

"Keevan," Remata'Klan whispers.  
"What is it?" The Vorta asks, looking up at the Jem'Hadar. The first light of dawn is barely seeping into the cave, painting everything rosy pink and making it easier for the Vorta to see. There's something off about the stare Remata'Klan wears.   
"I . . . It's dark, Keevan."  
"Remata'Klan?"  
"I can't see, Keevan."  
Keevan sits upright, taking the Jem'Hadar's face in both hands. He reacts to the touches, but that's all he reacts to. It's as though Keevan ends at his hands for the Jem'Hadar. Remata'Klan swallows his panic.  
"I can get—"  
"No," Remata'Klan growls. "I don't . . . I don't trust him."  
"You have to let people help you sometimes," Keevan hisses.  
"Then . . . be my eyes, Keevan."  
"You know Vorta have weak eyesight."  
"I trust you, Keevan." Remata'Klan's voice wavers with panic.  
Keevan kisses Remata'Klan's cheek. "I'm right here, Remata'Klan. I won't leave you."  
Remata'Klan trembles, almost imperceptibly. It strikes Keevan that the Jem'Hadar, this strong soldier, is terrified. It makes dread, cold and thick, seep into the Vorta.  
"I'll stay with you," Keevan promises, laying on his side next to the Jem'Hadar. He takes Remata'Klan's hand in his own. "Just take my hand and trust me."  
"I do." Remata'Klan's grip is tight on Keevan's hand, refusing to let go. "I do, Keevan."

* * *

When they wake properly, Keevan stays close, allowing Remata'Klan to keep a hand on him. Keevan, gently, settles close, feeding Remata'Klan breakfast.   
"Is he alright?" Julian asks.  
"I'm fine," Remata'Klan insists.   
"He's fine." Keevan shrugs. "Is it a crime to feed your lover?"  
Julian sighs, giving Keevan a look that says he didn't need that image. Keevan raises a brow, challenging Julian.   
"Keevan," Remata'Klan's voice is firm. A warning.   
"Sorry . . . darling."  
Julian rolls his eyes.  
"I would like to examine him," Julian says firmly.   
Remata'Klan turns his head in Julian's direction, eyes narrowed.   
"Remata'Klan?"  
"Yes?"  
"Can you see me?" Julian asks.  
Keevan takes Remata'Klan's hand. The Jem'Hadar shakes his head.  
"It's a side effect of withdrawal," Keevan says.   
"I am . . . frightened," Remata'Klan admits. "I have never been in this state of withdrawal."  
Julian's up, grabbing the tricorder.  
"You can't do anything given our conditions," Keevan says. "And he's not going to get any better without white to stop the effects of withdrawal."  
"We'll be rescued today, they'll have a sickbay and—"  
"I can manage," Remata'Klan says. "Keevan is my eyes. I trust in him as my partner."  
Smiling, Keevan guides the Jem'Hadar into a kiss, Remata'Klan blinking, reaching to feel the Vorta, grounding himself in the reality of Keevan, his warmth.

* * *

Remata'Klan feels exposed without being able to hold the Vorta but Keevan combs fingers through the Jem'Hadar's hair, carefully working out the knots until it's just black silk.   
"You're going to braid it?"  
"Of course."   
Remata'Klan can feel the Vorta's nimble fingers working through his hair, sectioning it. He can feel the pull, weaving his hair into a single plait, tying it off.   
He reaches back, feeling the Vorta's work.   
"You're going to mess it up," Keevan says, kissing Remata'Klan's cheek.  
"Sorry. I wanted to admire it." Remata'Klan stops touching his braid. "It's efficient."  
"You're efficient you big brute." Keevan gets up, settling into Remata'Klan's lap.   
The Jem'Hadar leans in, careful in resting his head on the Vorta.   
“We’ll be off this planet today,” Keevan whispers. “They might have white.”  
“The Federation won’t have white.”  
"You don't know that."  
"I do," Remata'Klan says. "I'll go to their sickbay, but I want you with me. You're my eyes, Keevan."

* * *

The CMO is courteous enough to let Keevan stay while she takes scans of the Jem'Hadar, looking them over.  
"Well?" Remata'Klan asks. "How long do I have?"  
"Longer if you'd let us place you in a medically induced coma," she answers.   
"Remata'Klan," Keevan says, holding the Jem'Hadar's hand in his own. "You should let her."  
"How long would it take to secure ketracel white?" Remata'Klan asks.  
"Longer than you've got," she answers plainly.   
Remata'Klan nods. While she prepares everything to put the Jem'Hadar under, Remata'Klan turns his head toward Keevan. "Promise me something?"  
"What?" The Vorta asks, frustrated with the Jem'Hadar for procrastinating.  
"Be nice to these Federation people."  
"I . . . suppose I can manage that," Keevan says, kissing Remata'Klan's cheek.  
A single hypospray against Remata'Klan's neck and he's unconscious, as if sleeping soundly.  
"I want to stay," Keevan says.   
"One condition," the doctor says.   
Keevan nods.   
She smiles at the Vorta. "Tell me what you know about Jem'Hadar physiology."

* * *

Keevan knows all his rights, having his status changed from "prisoner" to "informant," which is really just another label for "refugee." But it keeps him on Deep Space Nine, close to Remata'Klan, who's watched over by Julian.  
After a shift in Ops, decoding transmissions and pointing out troop movements, Keevan takes the lift down to the Promenade. Purposefully, he strides into the Infirmary. Jabara tilt her head in greeting.   
Keevan knows the way by now. He stands, watching Remata'Klan in his deep slumber.  
"It won't be long now," Keevan says softly. "I just hope you're happy to see me again."  
It's quiet, as always. Remata'Klan doesn't stir, simply breathes and exists. Keevan sighs.   
He leaves because he has to. He's been waiting on the shipment and it's late enough that Odo should be elsewhere. He make the short walk to Quark's, each step taking him closer to his goal.   
"Keevan." Quark grins. "I have just what you need. But first, a drink?"  
"Just my order," Keevan says.  
"Of course," Quark says.   
He disappears into his back-room, leaving Keevan at the bar. The Vorta fidgets, anxious to get his shipment and leave.   
Quark returns with a simple case. "You're sure you know how to open it?"  
"Of course." Keevan pays the Ferengi his promised fee before taking the case. "Thank you, Quark."  
With the case secure in his arms, Keevan returns to his quarters, the turbolift taking an age. But this will be worth it, he tells himself. Stepping into his quarters, he locks the door. Setting the case on the coffee table, he enters an override all Jem'Hadar Firsts are given. The case opens, the two halves of the lid parting like flower petals.   
Taking up a vial and a hypo, Keevan injects a minute amount of the ketracel white into himself.  
Instead of being overcome by the blinding heat of rage, Keevan feels cold. He sets the hypo down, collapsing on the sofa. The ketracel, a party drug in some parts of the alpha quadrant, is genuine. Keevan closes his eyes, feeling the room spin, his stomach turn.   
But it's only toxic to Keevan. It's not tainted or poisoned. And once it wears off, he'll be free to deliver the case to the Infirmary, perhaps undo some of the damage Remata'Klan's suffered.  
He gets up, repliating a glass of water and drinking it slowly. It doesn’t do much for the nausea that slowly creeps up on him, sinking those claws into his belly. Kicking off his boots absently, Keevan grabs the ketracel case, carrying it close to his chest, carrying it to the bedroom..   
He places the case next to the bed, close enough that he can reach out and check it. He crawls into bed, on his side facing the case. Reaching up, Keevan’s fingers brush the golden accents of the case. Slowly, he sinks into a deep sleep, shivering and sick.

* * *

"Keevan."  
At first, he doesn’t open his eyes, keeping them shut tight to block out to uneasy creeping of bbile up his throat. He reaches out, to the other side of the bed, and finds it empty.  
“Keevan.” Firmer this time.  
The Vorta opens his eyes. For a moment, he looks around, searching for Remata’Klan. Instead, there’s only Odo looming over him.   
Keevan hadn't head the override code for the door, no steps cross the threshold to the bedroom. But, it wouldn't be hard for the Changeling to get it. "Hmm?"  
Odo holds up the loaded hypo, taken from the living roon. For a long moment, he just inspects the contents. "Ketracel white?"  
Keevan nods, then regrets it, the nausea pounding through him. He swallows carefully, making sure the bile’s all the way down before even trying to breathe.  
"You know I'll have to take you in for drug trafficking," Odo says. He eyes the case, the vials of white. For a moment, the Changeling looks almost apologetic.  
"Fine." Keevan gets to his feet, glaring at the Changeling. "But I want you to take the white to the Infirmary."  
"I can . . . see he gets it," Odo assures the Vorta, a hand on his shoulder.

* * *

There's nothing left to do but shiver out the last dregs of the white from his system. It leaves him cold but sweating, unable to contain the thoughts that race through his mind: Remata'Klan and whether he's alive or dead, the Constable's disappointment which is a slight even if Keevan's defected from the Church of the Dominion, and the Dominion perhaps seeking him out for holding knowledge and yet being such a traitor. All the thoughts that pass through his skull multiply, tangents upon sidenotes, until he thinks it might be safer to bash his brains out against his cell walls. But then he'd never see Remata'Klan, confirm his death or his life.  
He shivers. He expects death.  
The sound of footsteps draws his stare, though there's no one there. He narrows his eyes. The only way someone could get past the Constable is . . . to be invisible.  
"Remata'Klan?"  
The Jem'Hadar drops his Shroud, looking at the Vorta through the security field. "You look like hell."  
"I had to make sure the white wasn't tainted." Keevan looks Remata'Klan over. He seems more or less fine except for the eyepatch. "You're hurt."  
"Blind in one eye," Remata'Klan amends. "Or what used to be an eye."  
Keevan sinks to his knees. Remata'Klan settles on the floor, sitting cross-legged. For a long moment, they just stare, taking in each other in the cold lighting, shadows cast harshly over their faces.  
"You made a promise," Remata'Klan whispers, breaking the eternity of silence at last. "One you followed through on."  
"I am the Vorta," Keevan answers, meeting Remata'Klan' one-eyed stare. "I will take care of you."  
"You did." Remata'Klan smiles at the Vorta. "You saved my life."  
"Three more weeks."  
"Hmm?"  
"Until I'm out of this prison."  
"Odo went easy on you." Remata'Klan tilts his head, getting a better look at the Vorta.  
Keevan nods. "I did it to save your life. If it was anyone else--"  
"No one else has had to make that choice."   
The tube in Remata'Klan's neck hisses, delivering a dose of ketracel. Keevan watches the white enter the Jem'Hadar's system.  
"I've discussed it with Odo. Since I need the white to live, I'll be allowed to get some through Quark." Remata'Klan, self-conscious, covers the tube with his hand, breaking Keevan's stare. "Why did you take the white?"  
"I had to make sure it wasn't poisoned."  
"It could have killed you."  
"I was careful," Keevan insists.  
"Did it feel wonderful?" Remata'Klan asks.   
Keevan shakes his head. "Horrible."  
"Now you know what I live with."  
A set of footsteps makes them both tense. Keevan looks over Remata'Klan's shoulder, the Jem'Hadar Shrouding himself. Keevan thinks he might slink into a corner and just wait.  
Odo steps into the room, looking at Keevan curiously. Before Keevan can say anything, Odo calls, "Remata'Klan, it's alright."  
"You knew." Remata'Klan drops his Shroud, staring at the Changeling.  
"I figured." Odo crosses his arms. "You can visit Keevan tomorrow."  
Remata'Klan nods. He looks over at Keevan. "Tomorrow, then."

* * *

They spend Keevan's first day of freedom holed up in their quarters. Almost the instant the door is closed, Keevan can't help but kiss Remata'Klan, relishing in the way Remata'Klan returns them. Keevan pulls at Remata'Klan's clothing, Remata'Klan stripping the Vorta, gently nudging him back onto the sofa.   
Remata'Klan takes his time, slowly marking every inch of Keevan's throat with lovebites. He's allowed to go slow, to make sure Keevan knows how much he adores him.  
"Hurry up," Keevan huffs.  
"No," Remata'Klan says. "I want to take my time with this. We don't have anyone rushing us."  
Keevan seems confused for a moment, then his eyes widen. He slows his pace, taking his time to finish stripping Remata’Klan, taking in every detail of the Jem'Hadar’s body.  
“We don’t have anywhere to be,” Remata’Klan says, “unless we really want to be there.”  
“You sound like you’re speaking blasphemy,” Keevan teases.  
Remata’Klan raises a spiked brow. “Would it be better if we got Odo’s blessing?”  
“No,” Keevan says firmly. “I think we can manage on our own.”  
“Good.”  
Remata’Klan’s hands wander, exploring the Vorta, testing to find all his most sensitive spots, noting when something earns him a soft moan or makes Keevan squirm. Keevan explores the Jem’Hadar just as much, tracing over the thick hide, mouth wandering over Remata’Klan’s neck, fingers tracing Remata’Klan’s sheathe, drawing out his cock.  
The Jem’Hadar kisses the Vorta, a quick peck, and gets up, replicating some lubricant for them. Keevan raises a brow, intrigued.  
“Let me take care of you for a change,” Remata’Klan says, settling between Keevan’s thighs.  
“Alright.”   
Remata’Klan pours a small amount over the Vorta’s genital slit, his other hand smearing it over Keevan’s slit the Vorta hissing and shivering under Remata’Klan’s free hand.  
“It’s cold.”   
Remata’Klan leans in, pressing his lips to the Vorta’s chest. “Sorry. I want to make you comfortable.”  
Remata’Klan sets the lubricant aside, sliding two fingers into the Vorta slowly. Keevan groans, hips rolling toward Remata'Klan's fingers. The Jem’Hadar works the Vorta open, tracing those ridged inner walls of his slit a unique and thrilling texture.   
“Faster,” Keevan begs, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. A lilac flush spreads over Keevan’s face, down his throat, spreading across his chest.  
Remata’Klan kisses along Keevan’s collarbones. His voice is low, rough. “I hear. I obey.”  
He moves his hand faster, making Keevan cry out, squirm. Just by listening and adjusting accordingly, he gets Keevan to cum with a stifled cry.  
“I want to hear you,” Remata’Klan says. “Don’t worry about noise or time. Be loud. Be mine.”  
Keevan nods, eyes wide, pupils wide. “Again, please, Remata’Klan.”  
“I hear,” Remata’Klan says, leaning in to press his lips against the lean muscles of Keevan’s belly. “I obey.”

* * *

Remata'Klan lounges on the sofa, Keevan laying against him, both freshly cleaned after hours of christening their quarters: the kitchenette, the bed, the sofa, the floor in almost every room, and, finally, the sonic shower.  
Their quarters, sparsely furnished, are an upgrade from the barracks of the Dominion. Here, they are allowed to be and allowed to be together.  
The Vorta' presses his ear to the Jem'Hadar's chest, listening to his eight-chambered heart beating slow and steady. Slowly, Remata'Klan runs fingers through the Vorta's hair, the coarse strands smoothed under the Jem'Hadar's large palm.   
"Remata'Klan?"  
"Keevan."  
"I . . . care about you."  
"I know," Remata'Klan assures Keevan.   
"More than just wanting to take care of you."  
"Lovestruck." Remata'Klan smiles at him.  
Keevan reaches up, tracing the edge of the eyepatch. The fabric is dark against Remata'Klan's thick skin. There’s no emblem stitched into the fabric declaring an allegiance nor something Remata’Klan finds beuatiful, just the black fabric, dark as the void enveloping the station.   
"You're still worried." Remata'Klan take Keevan's hand, kissing his knuckles, the bone whole under Remata’Klan’s lips, the skin warm under his affection.  
"Always."  
Remata'Klan pulls Keevan closer, into a kiss, something lingering on both their mouths. "You shouldn't worry. I'm safe, in good health, and I have you."  
Keevan settles into Remata'Klan's lap, kissing him fiercly, passionately, pressing as close as he can without any concern for the spines that like the Jem’Hadar’s face or the rough texture of his skin against Keevan’s own. The Vorta sinks his teeth into Remata'Klan's lower lip, white teeth drawing deep violet blood, almost black as it spills into their kiss. Remata'Klan laughs as the taste of metal coats both their tongues, slides warm down their throats to cool in their stomachs.


End file.
